


Roses

by Keiraskinder



Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: AU, Fluff, Humor, M/M, OOC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 17:36:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20139349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keiraskinder/pseuds/Keiraskinder
Summary: OOC. Boris is taking Valery out on a date.AU. Chernobyl HBO setting but there is no mention of radiation or tragedy.





	Roses

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by lovely AwariaSuit and her amazing stories.
> 
> This is not about real people.  
I own nothing.  
Please do not repost.  
Not a native speaker.  
Unbetaed

Boris was striding towards the hotel holding a gorgeous bouquet of roses.

The roses were certainly for Valery. They were having a Real Date tonight – not just the “You and I should take a walk”, but a proper one, in a hotel restaurant, with fancy drinks and even some show to watch!

Not that he expected much from it. The “Local Talents Fair” was organized by restless Bryukhanov. During the whole month, he would come up to just about everyone in Pripyat and get on people’s nerves, urging them to perform something at his show. He begged, threatened, nagged, promising promotion and Hero of The Soviet Union medals. He even was impudent enough to come to Boris and Valery’s trailer with same shitty proposal. Of course, Boris kicked him out before he could even open his mouth.

Finally, Bryukhanov got a handful of not-so-willing participants, printed an ad in the local paper: “Pripyat elite to attend Local Talents Show at Polissya Hotel on June, 30!” - and started selling tickets.

In the beginning, he was going to charge ten rubles. Alas, no tickets were sold, even “One Ruble Discount for The Aged and Members of The Party” did not help. Gradually, Bryukhanov lowered the fee to five, three and finally, just one ruble: still, zero sales.

Three days before the show, a huge sign “FREE ENTRANCE TO THE LOCAL TALENTS FAIR !” appeared on the door of the hotel. 

The house was expected to be packed.

So, Boris was walking. In long confident strides. However, the closer to the hotel he got, the weaker was his determination getting. What if Valery did not actually understand this was supposed to be a _date_?.. What if he reckoned giving roses to a man was outrageous?..

What if he would _hate_ Boris for it?..

At the entrance, Boris fidgeted and started pacing nervously on the porch. The fat barmaid was smoking nearby, looking at him with curiosity. Boris considered presenting her with the bouquet and thus being done with it. But roses were truly luxurious, and she might have gotten some wrong ideas. Paying a nightly visit to his room, for instance – highly undesirable.

People started arriving . Everyone was staring. Boris nearly stuck the wretched flowers into the dust bin. But he could not gather his courage to do so under a barmaid’s scrutiny.

Finally, he walked in. They had the best table reserved, closest to the stage. There was a small sign on it:

“Valery Legasov  
Boris Shcherbina  
Nikolai Tarakanov  
Vladimir Pikalov”

Boris took out his pen and crossed out Pikalov and Tarakanov. Theу could sit elsewhere. 

Then, he stared at the damn bouquet miserably, not knowing what to do with it. His idea of giving Valery flowers now seemed to be the culmination of idiocy. 

Show was about to start when Valery finally appeared. Stopped dead upon seeing the roses.

\- Err… Is it.. yours?.. – He asked uncertainly.

\- Of course not! – Boris exclaimed nervously and moved his chair away from the bouquet, nearly falling off. 

\- Oh. Someone left it here. They will surely come back. Lovely roses, and must have cost a fortune, - Valery mused sounding almost jealous. – They probably meant it as a present for someone…

\- Hope you do not delude yourself into thinking it was for _you_! – Boris snapped.

\- Of course not, - Valery was perplexed. – I have nothing to do with it…

\- Well, neither do I! Drink your cocktail!

Boris was fuming. So, Valery _did_ like roses after all – but now it was impossible to cancel Boris’ initial denial! He got furious with himself for being such a coward. And with Valery – for the lack of insight. Was it that hard to guess?!

Meanwhile, the first performers appeared on stage.

Akimov and Toptunov volunteered to perform salsa, which everyone thought would be the cherry on top of the program. Unfortunately, they did not find open-back Latin dress for Toptunov and ended up attempting Russian Navy Dance instead. Toptunov did well, throwing his legs in different directions and hitting Akimov nearly every time. Akimov, on the other hand, only managed a few pathetic knee-bending exercises looking rather constipated on the way. 

They left the stage accompanied by scarce applause and generous amount of whistling, mumbling their usual thin excuse of “We did everything right”. 

Then, Dyatlov came on in a stylish white hat and rocked the crowd with his all-time hits “3.6 roentgen is not enough”, “Li-Li-Liar” (dedicated to Professor Legasov), “Shallow Feedwater” and “Take me to the Infirmary”. Chambermaids from the hotel were fainting and throwing their aprons and bras at him.

Valery seemed to be delighted. In the darkness of the restaurant, Boris decided to risk the next step of the Proper Date thing: to put his arm around Valery’s shoulder. He carefully, slowly started stretching it behind Valery’s chair. Valery felt the movement and turned to him, eyes questioning.

\- Just a bit of exercise, - Boris explained, withdrawing quickly . – Always good. 

To prove his point, he waved his arms energetically up and down and to the sides.

At that moment, Charkov came on to the stage, sporting a black top hat and a fake moustache a la Salvador Dali. He bowed to the public and took a rabbit out of his hat. The rabbit must’ve shitted in it, for Charkov took a good look inside and did not put it back on his head.

\- And now, ladies and gentlemen, a wonderful disappearance trick for you!.. – Charkov declared. - As you can see, this is an ordinary piece of paper. You can touch it. Trust but verify, as I always say!...

He produced some paper covered with print.

\- This is the protocol of some courtroom testimony earlier this morning, - he explained, waving his paper in front of the audience. – And now, you will see it Magically Disappear – not only from this room, but from all the recordings of the hearing, as well!.. As if it never happened!... One, two, three!...

The paper did indeed disappear, even though Boris could see perfectly well that Charkov just quickly crumpled it with his other hand and stuffed it into his pocket. 

The rest of the audience was not impressed, either.

\- Get him out of here! – someone yelled.

\- Charkov sucks at magic tricks, - Boris whispered to Valery. - He used to bore me to death at our Kremlin meetings. Would make me pick up a card and try to guess which one it was. He never managed to guess correctly, not even on the twentieth attempt. And then he would threaten to arrest me if I did not tell him which card I picked! Once, he stole the card when I was not looking, the cheating bastard that he is, and…

\- I hear everything, comrade Shcherbina! – Charkov said from the stage warningly. He was busy extracting a huge chain saw out of his briefcase.

\- Now, ladies and gentlemen, I need one brave volunteer for my next trick – sawing a person in half! – Charkov said with a shark smile. 

The front row shifted uncomfortably.

\- Anyone?... – Charkov repeated. – I know you've heard the stories about me. When I hear them, even I am shocked. But I am not what people say. And mind you, that tale in papers last week, claiming I cut a guy’s hand off at my show in Novo-Voronezh - it was a blatant lie!.. 

Sadly, no volunteers appeared: Charkov was forced to leave the stage ingloriously, mumbling something about arresting ungrateful wankers first thing in the morning.

Next, Bryukhanov and Fomin were performing the final act of “Otello”.

\- Have you prayed tonight, Desdemona?! – Bryukhanov bellowed menacingly. 

He covered his face with coal dust and wrapped himself into dirty bedsheet. Combined with his natural curly hair, the image was quite convincing. 

Fomin, on the other hand, could’ve put a bit more effort into his Desdemona looks, Boris thought disapprovingly. Fomin was wearing his usual black suit and a dull tie. All he did to impersonate Desdemona was arranging some scarf on his head and taking his glasses off. Too bad, he saw close to nothing without them and missed his chair in the beginning of the scene. Causing a fit of inappropriate laughter from the audience. He also kept forgetting his lines: “Ay, Comrade Bryukhanov” instead of “Ay, my Lord”. 

And he did not act much, either: just sat there with his arms on his knees, with vibrant Bryukhanov busying around. Everyone was relieved when Fomin finally got strangled.

Valery, however, seemed to be really taken in by their annoying performance. Boris was casting sideway glances at his happy face. Wishing fervently that he also knew how to do something beautiful and impressive. Play an instrument, for example.

He imagined a huge white grand piano and himself approaching it, smiling demurely. Wearing a tuxedo, mind you! And looking quite dashing in it, too. He would swing back his tuxedo tails, sit and start the first powerful rolling chords of the Moonlight Sonata.

He could see miners wiping their eyes, with Tarakanov openly weeping. And of course, Valery, who was looking at him in awe.

\- Boria, my hero… This is so beautiful, - Valery would whisper with admiration.

And then, when the final sounds would die, Boris will jump elegantly from the stage (ignoring the stairs) and march to Valery’s table, accompanied by the thunderous applause of his charmed audience. Stretch his hand and…

BAMMM!

Apparently, Boris got so engaged in his daydream that he was actually gesturing away quite violently. Clumsily dropping Valery’s Bloody Mary, spilling the drink all over the table and Valery’s trousers.

\- Sorry, I am so sorry… - Boris mumbled in horror. He grabbed some napkins from the table and started rubbing at the stain. Then, having realized that he was almost touching Valery’s fly, got mortified and stopped, breathing heavily and trying to pull himself together.

\- My grandmother used to say salt can prevent tomato stains from staying! – he whispered, grasping at the salt cellar from the table.

Unfortunately, the dark stain, now covered with a thick layer of wet salt, looked even worse. People at surrounding tables were gazing at Boris with pity.

\- I will wash them, - Boris said desperately. – Take them off. I mean not now. Later. In my room. I mean…

He stopped and squeezed his eyes shut, wishing that he could magically teleport somewhere very, very far away. To the North Pole, for good, preferably. But when he opened his eyes, he was still in the bloody restaurant. The stain was still very much there, as well.

It appeared that the Local Talents Show was coming to an end, and nearly everyone has already left. Few drunk miners at the far table started singing The Miners’ Anthem loudly. At the end of it, they would strip claiming “This is how our fathers used to sing this Anthem!” It was not on the program, they performed it every night anyway.

Boris finished his vodka, lost in gloomy thoughts. 

\- Boria?.. It was a nice show, wasn’t it? Thank you for inviting me. Boria? 

The miners’ chorus was getting louder, with lead singer climbing on to the table, balancing on it dangerously with two bottles in his hands. Glukhov was conducting performance with a fork. 

\- Why do I always ruin things? And with you, of all people! It’s just not fair.

\- What?..

\- Well it’s because I… hold you in the highest regard. I never told you.

\- Err… Sorry, I can’t hear you?.. The singing is quite loud, and…

\- I SAID I LOVE YOU! – Boris shouted.

The lead singer of course chose this very moment to fall from the table, everyone did shut up instantly, and so Boris delivered his last line in total silence.

Well, it’s not like anyone was surprised.

Valery _smiled_. That was totally worth it, Boris decided.

\- Come on. We need to… Discuss something, - Valery took his hand and forced him to stand up. At the door, Valery suddenly stopped and glanced back at their table. Roses were bathing in the puddle of tomato juice.

\- Look, the flowers are still there, - Valery said quietly. – No one came for them.

Boris shrugged. There was no point in denying it.

\- I was wondering if you would mind if I… If we were to take them, after all?.. – Valery asked. – No one ever gave me roses. It’s such a terrible waste. We could put them in a vase. In my room. Together. Now. If you don’t mind, that is.

And Boris blushed and nodded.


End file.
